


Home

by withdrawnred



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post - Half-Blood Prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withdrawnred/pseuds/withdrawnred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But homes, for Hermione at least, were always more about the people she shared the space with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alltheglitters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltheglitters/gifts).



> Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
> 
> I don't know whether the concept of a "born-again Christian" is present in the UK or if it's particular to America. If it's just an Americanism, pardon -- though it won't be changed.

"So, when'd you get home?"

The question was innocent enough. She hardly thought it warranted the sneer and snap she received in response. "This isn't my home. It's just where I live--temporarily."

Hermione blinked at him, trying to steel herself internally to not be fazed. Something must have happened on the last mission he'd been sent on. Merlin, she knew they were getting more and more dangerous (her sprained knee was still recovering from the previous week's raid, thanks to their new emergencies-only rationing rule for Healing), but Malfoy's moodiness hit a higher note than necessary. 

Her lip curled, an action grown far too familiar to her than she'd like. "You sound just like a born-again Christian."

His sharp eyes darted to her own, appraising. It was sure sign of his curiosity, she'd come to realize over their time together throughout the war. "A what?"

As she struggled to think of how to explain the concept to him, she set one of the mugs in her hands by his elbow. By the time she'd sat across from him at the dingy little kitchen table, he'd taken the initial, hesitant sip. It was like clockwork: he blew on the tea, took a tentative sip, and then proclaimed his verdict. It made her think of her parents' wino friends at times. Her mother's best friend had tried, in vain, to teach her the intricacies: see, swirl, sniff, sip, savor. When she'd first noticed his habit with tea (or in times of great need, coffee), she'd convinced herself it was his own means of checking for poison. But no. He was just rather picky about how he liked his tea. Black, two sugars. Draco Malfoy had no problem cutting into someone for making what he considered rubbish, plebeian tea. Silence while he continued to drink, usually accompanied by a disappointed grunt -- disappointed, that is, that there was nothing to critique. 

Like with this cup. It gave her the kick of confidence she needed to start her explanation. 

"There's a Muggle religion known as Christianity, and some of the followers consider themselves born-again in that they've been supposedly saved by their God. Anyway, most of them consider earth their temporary home and themselves pilgrims until they can move on to heaven for all eternity."

Following her quick and, she thought, quite concise telling, he simply raised his eyebrow and lowered the cup to the table. "Is this your way of trying to cheer me up? Because, let me tell you, comparing me to crazy religious Muggles ... not the most effective means."

She stared off past his shoulder, chewing the inside of her cheek as she thought. The house was falling into shambles. Hermione was of the perhaps optimistic opinion that all it needed was a little attention. "What would it take for you to consider this good enough to be home?" Her voice sounded very distracted and blank, almost detached. Her mind was filling with tasks that she'd never have time for. Peeling the remaining shoddy wallpaper, scrubbing the grease off the stovetop and the coffee and tea stains off the countertops and tables, dusting the mantles and banisters. The kitchen would be a light yellow with white trim. She'd always been a fan of sunny, yellow kitchens.

His hoarse chuckle shocked her out of her redecorating daydream, and she locked eyes with him once more. "This place? You've got to be joking."

She scowled. "It isn't that bad. Just needs a bit of work."

"Yeah, really. If by 'a bit', you mean 'a fucking lot', then yes."

"Making it over into something elegant wouldn't make it any more of a home, and you know it."

Sure, this place wasn't the most ... homey. But homes, for Hermione at least, were always more about the people she shared the space with. Her parents' home was because of her parents and its familiarity. It was waking up to the smell of her parents' coffee, the comfort offered by her father's overstuffed armchair and her mother's afghan. The same could be said for Hogwarts and her friends.

And, now, she could say the same of her place with Draco Malfoy. There was no other way to describe it; he was home.


End file.
